#bishoots

[puckfreak]

yes

[marksmens]

hey oldie

what up kid. can you rent a car yet?

[lilsupe-arc]

oh, it’s not so bad.

‘it’s pretty fucking bad, kate.’      in the grasp of her right hand, emma’s iphone displays the youtube comment section of her latest upload.  while it tends to host a usual cocktail of casual hate, today is different.  it’s a tsunami.  familiar hate-watcher usernames have been drowned out by an overwhelming wave of brand-new accounts, all parroting the same thing in increasingly creative ways: this video fucking sucks.  [some even sprinkle in the occasional kill yourself, just to round out the ambiance.]  while most likely sparked from some paid-bot hate campaign, emma can't help but feel defeated. worthless. [everything the comment sections wants her to feel.]

with a long, dramatic groan, emma drops backward onto kate’s couch; the phone tumbles beside her with a soft plop.      ‘this is, like  —  i could actually die right now. do you own a gun? i could really use a gun right now.’     she declares, in a very dramatic, very serious way only a nineteen-year-old experiencing online humiliation for the hundredth time possibly could.  the blonde stares at the ceiling for a few beats, stewing in her own personal misery, until something sparks.  a tiny fire.  a breath catches inside of her chest before it moves, breathing, igniting more flames, and then finally  —  the explosion she was waiting for!  

a loud gasp escapes emma's lips as she snaps upright, scooting to the edge of the cushion as she points directly at kate with both index fingers. as if she's the key to it all.      ‘fun-sized with little cricket featuring fucking hawkeye!  oh, pause  —  not, like, fucking hawkeye  …  you know what i mean.’      she grins triumphantly; in her mind, this is a completely flawless idea.